Forlorn - An Amren Fic
by Eliniei
Summary: Amren, alone in her apartment, reflects on when she started to care for Feyre in the past few months.


Amren stared down at the empty jars in her little kitchen.

She didn't know when the familiarity started to sink in, but now that Feyre was gone, she could feel the absence of her presence. The girl had only been gone a mere two days. She didn't even visit everyday, so what brought on this lonely feeling?

After washing the jars out, she took them over to the collection of others that had been brought by her friend. They had been stacked up in a little pyramid. How fitting that these last two completed the tower. It would be a while yet before her High Lady was brought back to her rightful place.

With an annoyed click of her tongue, Amren turned away, only to face the rest of her dark and quiet apartment. She had never thought of it that way until now. All of the jewelry in the world couldn't seem to pull her out of this gloom. The extravagant necklace Varian had sent was still sitting on the dresser by her bed. She flicked her silver eyes to it, and even it did nothing to rouse her.

The Book of Breathings still sat on the table, and she could feel it staring at her. Calling to her ancient blood. She sat in front of it and stroked a long finger up the edges of the metal pages.

 _You are not who I seek._

She scoffed and withdrew her hand. "Well, tough luck, then. You're stuck with me again whether you like it or not." Ugh. Why was she talking to a book? Aggravated, Amren let out a huff and quickly stood, her knees wobbling a bit at the movement. She hadn't been able to obtain any blood, yet alone rest, in the last couple of days. The longest of her bloody life...and it has been a long life. The healers had come for Cassian's wings, and it was still unclear whether or not they could be saved. She had kept him in an unconscious state until Rhysand ordered her away.

Ah, the High Lord of Night.

She could not help but feel mild contempt for him. It was not completely unwarranted, but she understood his reasons, even if it upset her. The desire to punch him in the face remained. He would let her, too.

A feeling prickled up her spine and her attention went back to the book.

 _Where is the liar?_

So, it was going to be like this, then.

"Why should I tell you?" Amren asked. "This is your fault, after all."

By the Goddess, if anyone saw her talking to an inanimate object, they would probably laugh at her.

 _How so?_

"Don't be coy. You are no more innocent than the rest of us."

She could feel the book smile. Laugh. The anger in her chest burned.

"You just had to seduce her to put you back together, didn't you?" Her voice rose, it's cackle making her fill to the brim with rage. "You're the reason she's gone!" The yell seemed to echo throughout the floor.

The book silenced.

Amren felt pain prick her palms. She grimaced, not only at her tightly-wound fists, but also at her sudden lack of grace and display of anger. These days, it seemed, she was prone to such behaviour. Her hands shook as she unfurled them. Thankfully, her nails had done no harm. If she barely had the energy to stand, she definitely wouldn't be able to heal.

She meandered around the apartment until she arrived at a small vanity in the corner across from her bed. After slumping down on to the stool before it, she stared into the mirror at the wrinkled, grey clothes that seemed to hang off of her. The face staring back was wan, with dark circles under her eyes.

It was similar, she remembered, to how Feyre had looked when Rhysand first brought her to the Court to meet them.

Amren had liked the girl from the start. Had know from the very beginning that she was her Lord's mate. That they were oh-so-similar in their Making. But even so, Feyre was quite standoffish, and she was no better. It usually took centuries for her to warm up to anyone. And still, sometimes Cassian and Morrigan had tried her patience. Even the High Lord himself could make her blood boil.

But the High Lady was different.

This feeling of affection. Caring. Not only as friend, and Lady, but sister as well. A need to protect.

It was unusual. Amren had never felt like this before.

When did it start?

She wondered if it had begun right away.

It could have possibly been in the Summer Court, when she finally got a taste of that quick-witted tongue and clever brain. She could mouth off to Rhysand without a second thought and shut him up in the same sentence.

Maybe it was the first day Feyre had brought her the blood. She glanced sideways at the pyramid of jars on the far end of the floor. Sighing through her nose, she rose from the vanity and let herself fall into the large, soft bed. Her eyes stared up at the drab white ceiling.

No.

It was that laugh. The authentic personality of the Cursebreaker shown through at that moment. Amren doubted that Feyre had ever laughed like that. A girl who was so young, but still had seen many hardships. No hint of sarcasm or nervousness. Just a simple, light-hearted sound that came from deep inside of her.

It was in that moment that she had started to truly care.

A half-smile appeared on her lips at the memory.

Ever since, she had relished Feyre's visits. Not just for the sustenance. The company had been pleasant in a way, even if Amren had not been exactly sociable. She almost regretted not being more open. She'd never experienced friendship like this before and had no idea how to react. If anything, she'd been nervous.

Her. Nervous.

The idea was almost laughable.

The smile had absentmindedly grown until her teeth were almost poking through.

It disappeared from her face almost immediately, remembering that her Lady was gone. Into the enemy's hands. Amren sat up and crossed her legs.

The realization that she was actually _lonely_ hit her, hard.

The book was no consolation, laying casually on the low table, muttering quietly to itself.

She wished she could waltz right into the Spring Court and pluck Feyre right out of Tamlin's grasp. But, she had to trust Rhysand.

Calm down. Wait it out. She will be alright. She can handle herself.

Amren stood from the bed and shoved a curtain away from the window, letting the bright colors of the sunset flood over her. She stared out at the city; at Velaris. It had finally started to return to normal since the attack.

A little ways down the street, she spied Morrigan and Azriel walking towards her building. The blonde hair was unmistakable. They both carried jars of dark liquid in their arms. She watched them, unblinking. A warm, comforting feeling bloomed in her chest.

When the moment is right, they will strike out in fury.

"We will serve and protect."


End file.
